Butterflies Fulfilled: WARNING 18+ [X Rated]

Butterflies

[dropcap]Thursday.[/dropcap]  2 o’clock.  And he texts.  Can I take you out for a coffee before I come see your apartment?  And I swoon a bit.  Like someone just poked the butterflies.  I mean sure.  They’re not buzzing about like bees.  Because the truth is I haven’t seen him in months.  Heard his actual voice in months.  And I need that stuff.  The physical.  The tangible.  To be fall off my chair swoony.  But it’s a start.  Because whether he sensed it.  Or knows me.  Or just thinks it’s a good idea.  I need a warm-up.  A moment to get used to each other.  A moment to check in and see if there’s still a spark.  And ya know.  I heart coffee.  I’m a sober writer.  What else is there?

I picked a Starbucks on campus.  I don’t know if I mentioned this before.  But in one of our recent text-convos he’d sent a photo of himself.  No doubt in an attempt to get me to send a photo.  Which I don’t do (more on this another time).  But the point of me bringing this up was to tell you that after months of romanticizing his image in my head.  The photo was a little.  Meh.  So you can understand my apprehension as I parked and walked inside.  But there he was.  And he smiled.  And the moment I heard his voice.  I don’t know what it is about his voice.  But I just like it.  It was good.  We ordered drinks.  Chatted about life.  School.  Work.  His daughter.  Hockey.  I can’t lie though, there were definitely some awkward moments.  But I think awkward more in the sense of like when you just kind of look at the other person.  Absorb them.  And nobody is saying anything.  And then there’s blushing and the conversation starts again.  Nervous laughter.


It doesn’t take long to finish our coffees.  I order mine at kids temp so I’m pretty used to downing it right quick.  And then we go to leave.  He opens the door.  We go to our cars.  My place is only a couple of blocks away so we’re there before I can take a deep breath.  I’m nervous.  I’m excited.  I still don’t know what I’m going to do.  He says something about how nice it is here and I say something like yeah.  I’ve never been more eloquent.  Inside we wait for the elevator.  It seems to take forever.  He’s standing really close.  And though I know his cologne is something super 90s like joop! or something ridiculous.  It smells amazing.  The doors open.  His hand on the small of my back.  And we walk inside.  I press 14.  Stand in the corner.  My breathing sounds like a grizzly bear hovering over my shoulder.  He seems not to notice.  And then he does it.  Like he knew.  Like someone had told him.  I mean it was just too cute.  Grabs my hand.  Just a finger or two.  Like a baby.  Sweet.  Adorable.  Exactly what I wanted.

It feels like it’s been 20 minutes.  I look at the buttons.  We’re only at the 7th floor.  I look at him.  He looks back.  He’s standing so close.  And then he kisses me.  Short.  Sweet.  Quick.  Nervous.  Kind of like at Christmas when he just wanted to get that out of the way wink.  He seems pleased with himself.  Or me.  Either or.  ding.  14.  We get to my door.  And go inside.  I’m nervous.  I try not to justify the smallness of my apartment.  I’m getting a second BA.  I’m working hard.  I have a big career ahead of me.  This is just a stepping stone.  I don’t need to justify myself.  Least of all to him.  So I say nothing.  Just let him look around.  Which takes about 10 seconds.  Joking.  He goes to the window.  Checks out the view.  It is a pretty rad view.  14 floors up.  Overlooking Wreck Beach.  Lucky Duck.

I asks if he wants a glass of water or something.  And by something I mean all I have is water I say.  We laugh.  My apartment is completely empty.  Except for 2 glasses, a folded up quilt, a fan and an iPod dock.  The few things that either couldn’t fit in my car on the way home the day before or I thought might be useful today.  I’m so creepy lol.  Sure he says.  And I go to get the glasses down off the shelf.  He comes up behind me.  My hips against the counter.  His hips behind mine.  His arms go around my waist.  And he pulls my hair to the side.  A handful of curls and he brushes them away.  Exposes my neck.  Kisses me.  Soft.  Smooth.  Good.

I slowly turn around.  Brush my body against his.  He’s ready to go in a heartbeat.  But I need more.  Longer. Slower.  And so he takes his time.  We kiss like teenagers.  Kiss like danger.  Kiss like hot.  Kiss like everything.  His hands grab my ass and with strength I never saw coming.  He lifts me up onto the counter.  My face now up to his height.  Fold my legs around his body.  I cannot express how important good kissing is, boys.  MAJOR.  And we’ve got it going on.  His tongue.  My tongue.  Play.  Swirl.  Lower lip.  Upper lip.  Together.  Big kiss.  Passion Passion Passion.  Small kiss small kiss.  I slowly drag my tongue across the middle of his lower lip.  Gentle.  Barely touching.  Make him beg for it.  Deep breath.  Playful.  Sexy.

He feels my body like it’s the first time.  Which for some areas it is.  When my bra comes off I hear him moan a bit.  My ego soars through the roof.  I lift off his shirt and throw it somewhere.  Slide down off the counter.  His hands in my hair and he tugs a little.  In the exact right way.  Tugs some more.  He’s been listening.  He knows.  It’s flawless.  It’s seamless.  It’s perfection.  He turns be back towards the counter.  Lifts my skirt just a bit and pulls the Red Lacies slowly down my legs.  He goes to undo my skirt.  Leave it on I say.  And he gets it.  Smiles.  His hands glide over my ass across my hips and come together over my lady bits.  He leaves one hand there and uses the other to undo his jeans.  The first hand disappears for only a heart beat (safety first kids) and he’s back.  One hand reaches around to my lady bits.  The other across my chest.  Strong he holds me.  Soft he holds them.  I arch my back.  Lean just a little bit forward.  And he slides in.

I’m a writer but I’m not sure how to write the rest.  Because when I think back it’s all in pictures and sounds.  There’s onomatopoeia I don’t know the words for.  Sounds that I can’t describe with ooohs and ahhhs because that’s just in bad pornos and not real sex.  But it’s strong and good.  It’s part bears in the woods and part swan lake or something equally as graceful.  There are smiles and eyes open.  Panting and eyes closed.  His right arm, the one across my chest.  Slides up to my neck.  Gently at first.  Then stronger.  Holding me.  Controlling me.  Because he knows thats what I want.  At one point I turn my neck.  Lean back a bit.  And his face is right there.  Lips brushing against lips.  Tongues stretch.  Kisses that strain to hold.  He works his magic until I’m done.  And then I work mine until his is too.  We’re all smiles.  I lay the quilt across my bed.  My studio apartment dorm bed.  And we lay there.  Exhausted.  Exhilarated.  Satisfied.  The what if being answered.  Butterflies fulfilled.

Only….

That’s not exactly what happens.  Because this is me after all and shit is just never straight forward laid out awesome like that.  And this is The Nick Name.  A man who I would characterize with epic retardation except for the fact that if he’s retarded what does that make me for playing along?  I’d rather not think about it.  See the thing of the thing is.  I read all the comments.  From blog readers.  From close personal friends.  And you all had valid points.  (I’d be more alarmed that a great majority of you were sending me into the Lion’s Den if it wasn’t for the fact that I know you’re doing it because you know I could handle whatever the Den had in store for me).  That being said.  I have a gut.  I often don’t listen to it.  I blame my eternal optimism and the faith I have to have that people are A. not all retarded and B. not all total shit.  But regardless I do have a gut.  That tells me things.  And on Wednesday night.  My gut was telling me.  It was not a good sign that when I texted The Nick Name during the Canucks game and there was no response.  Even though us hanging out on Thursday had been his idea.  So I sent a text.  Because I sure as fuck wasn’t going to wake up on Thursday and get all gussied up and drive out to UBC only to get bailed on or something.

Fuck.  You.  Silver Lining.  Well actually there’s a couple things.
1.  I didn’t reply.  Everybody loves Nonchalant Nancy.  Nobody loves Angry Angie or Bitter Betty.  Messages deleted.  Number deleted.  I will not be engaging in any further contact.
2.  Those “what if” butterflies that I had been wondering about (and The Hel had been hoping for in the comments section).  Done.  And not like angry-I’m-going-to-pretend-I-don’t-give-a-shit-even-though-I-actually-do kind of done.  But actual done.  Like actual butterflies-dead-fantasy-over-reality-trumped-turns-out-he-really-was-just-your-average-retard kind of done.  And I tell ya it actually feels pretty grand.
3.  And the most practical one of all.  I didn’t waste my Thursday waiting for a boy who wasn’t worth his salt in theory let alone in practice.
Now the truth is.  I do have a couple more thoughts sparked by this situation.  About boys.  And time wasting.  And general jack-assery retardation.  But this post is long enough so I’m saving it for another.  You’re welcome.
So in closing.  Hope the post was…er…stimulating.  If sadly it ends in disappointment.  Is it wrong that I think this post by far exceeds anything he would have actually been able to offer if we had hung out?  Hope it wasn’t too racy.  Love ya,  SSDated.

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

A Room with a View: Butterflies of Epic Proportions

Hearts
BTW…My Actual View.  Till Friday.

You know when you want something.  Lust after it.  Crave it.  Fantasize about how amazing it will be.  How those little butterflies can be found aflutter in your stomach every time you think about it.  Palms sweating glee and you can almost taste it.  You know that feeling?

Only what if life got in the way.  And when it actually happens.  Or is it about to happen.  The butterflies which had stood on guard.  Waiting.  WAITING.  waiting.  Finally gave up.  And now instead of excitement.  You only feel irritation.  Irritated because it’s not exactly what you wanted.  Irritated that it seems your theory (that you had, in fact, stirred up those butterflies all on your own) seems quite likely to be true.  Irritated that not only do you feel you have to but pissed that you’re even considering cleaning your apartment for a boy that’s not.  Butterflies.  For a boy that’s.  What.  For what?  A booty call?  A one-off?

I’m not a phone talker.  I’d much prefer to just wait to hang out in person.  But when we talked.  It was magic.  At least for me.  And I think for him too.  At the beginning.  After our first conversation he already thought I was a genius.  But more than the ego boost of him thinking I was quite intelligent.  Was the fact that he wanted to hear about it.  My papers.  My essays.  My words.  Written academically.  He wanted to hear about it talk about it know about it.  My face was flushed with lust.  Even now.  Months and months later.  He asks.  About school.  About my grades.  How did you do?

I always see an ending.  With Trucker Joe, even if it had survived past the summer it would never have made it past Christmas.  With all the other “somethings” I always felt a sort of 3 month max. kind of just looming in the distance.  Not negative or positive.  Just obvious.  But with him it seemed.  A little different.  I actually.  Er.  Um.  Kind of liked him.  And maybe it was all just chemistry and pheromones and the way I amped it up by fantasizing about it on cold nights of studying and stress.  But the truth is.  I once sat in a restaurant.  And held a friends hand.  In the cutest way.  Just to show her how I felt about him.  Which in and of itself (revealing mushy feelings to a third party) was pretty apocalyptic.  But it was true.  At the time.

I’m the queen of booty calls.  Okay well sort of.  But I’m definitely the queen of being able to separate sex from feelings when the case benefits from it.  But there I was a  couple months ago.  Asking TheHel a question that I’ve never asked before.  Because I’ve never had a doubt.  Do you think I could handle it, with him, just a booty call?  And her answer.  Point blank.  No.  Real talk, she didn’t even fucking hesitate. It was that clear.  Whether the feelings were real or fabricated.  They were present.  And I liked him.  Wanted to hold hands kind of liked him.  Gross.


And it wasn’t all perfect and swoony because after all he wasn’t able to give me what I wanted.  And so when dating didn’t work.  To the contrary advice of TheHel, we attempted a booty call.  And maybe it was life.  First he was busy.  Than I was busy.  Or maybe there just wasn’t enough interest.  It’s hard to tell when the boy isn’t a sex-crazed 19 year old willing to sell his best friend into domestic slavery for the sake of a good bang.  But either way it didn’t happen.  And yet.  We never lost touch.  Kept in contact.  Sporadic certainly.  A lengthy text conversation every 2-3 weeks.  And I’m not retarded.  I know the lack of phone calling speaks volumes.  But in my defense I’m used to being able to portion out the emotions and just ya know…put them over there.  For the sake of a purpose.

Detour.  Unfortunately I have to write this blog post out of order (because I need advice now!) and I don’t have time to write all the details of the past weeks but just know that there are no other boys.  Right now.  In the last few months.  Besides him.  That have given me butterflies.  And turns out.  Sex.  Not as mind-blowing (for me) without the butterflies.

6 weeks till school/exams are over.  He tries to hangout.  There’s flirting.  Sexy innuendo.  I have butterflies.  I would if I could.  But I can’t.  School trumps boys.  No question.

5 weeks till done.  He tries to hangout.  Flirting.  Innuendo.  Butterflies.  Can’t.  School.

4 weeks till done.  I’m back on PlentyOfFish in preparation of pending freedom.  I notice his profile is gone.  Recently.  Not that I occasional check to see.  Whaaatt!?!?!  Shut up I’m human. lol.  And he was right.  I’m a smart cookie.  He’s dating someone.  I don’t know really why I assume this rather than he’s taking a break from dating or something.  But I do.  And then we’re texting.  I ask if he’s met any cute girls lately?  He says yeah…asks about me.  I congratulate him That’s awesome 🙂 and tell him no but I just put up a POF profile again.  He responds I’m sure you’ll get tons of hits 🙂 and I smirk to myself.  Damn straight.  Though of quality…and I can hear myself sigh lol.  You’re too smart for most guys he quips the sexy is obvious.  And I feel a bit swoony.  Because I know he believes it.  Though I wonder if he includes himself in the “most guys” category?  I ask about the new girl (I assume we’re going to be buddies…one of the many options on the table for awhile now).  He says She’s pretty cool, maybe too sweet, but we are both making efforts.  And I think to myself.  I bet they`re a perfect match.  Or at least a lot better of one than we are.  Good for him.  And I actually mean it.  Only.  While I`m trying to be buddies.  The conversation keeps taking a turn (driven by him) to sexy and flirting and whatnot.  At first I feel guilty.  I don’t DO interference.  If you’ve got a girl.  I don’t run temptation.  That being said.  Is it even my responsibility.  I mean 100% yes if he’s married.  85% yes if they’re committed.  But a dude who just started dating a chick?  Not sure.  He still wants to see my new apartment.  I bet his does.  I suggest we go play pool somewhere or something lol.  But either way.  Right now I’m studying.  School.  First.  Boys.  Second.  Or Eighth.

3 weeks till done.  He texts.  I don’t partake in the flirting.  I have no time.  School is burying me.  I text back.  No time for hanging out/flirting I’ll text when school is over.  He responds.  Ok.


And then I’m done.  And almost a week goes by.  I think about texting.  Like I said I would.  But I pause.  Because it suddenly feels like we had an expiry date.  The butterflies took off.  They just got tired of waiting.  For him.  For me.  For life.  But I’m an optimist.  And a single girl who hasn’t had the kind of hot sex I’ve wanted as of late.  And I’ve got an apartment all to myself.  For only 4 more days.  Sure I’ll have one again in September.  But that’s 4 fucking months.  Privacy is a bitch, no?  I digress.  So although the butterflies have faded, their memory is still impressed into my body.  And so I text.  I’m done.  I survived.  He asks about my grades.  I ask about his work.  We talk about school.  And hockey.  It feels like we’re talking about the weather.  But the truth is every time we do text.  There’s always a bit of a butterfly resurrection.  It might not be butterfly Armageddon but there’s a definite resurgence.  He asks how long do you have your place till?  I tell him Friday.  But I’m mostly all moved out.  Just have to clean it.  And then I ask Do you still want to hang out or was my prime real-estate the real draw ;)?


And to be clear I don’t think I’m totally retarded in thinking he wants to be buddies.  Who flirt.  Because a. He’s said so before.  b. he’s now dating someone (and however, committed or not they are, it’s enough that he took down his profile).  c. Apparently some of you folk out there in the real world think men and women can be just friends.  However, that is until this last bit of conversation.  Because no joke he seems really disappointed I won’t have my own place.  Which I would understand more if he didn’t have one either, but he’s a grown man with his own place.  So it’s not like there wouldn’t be a place to bone?

Detour.  In writing this last bit I figured out a bit more about his disappointment.  He once told me that after our first date, he was kind of bragging about how I was only 29 to his friends, being just on the verge of 40 himself.  Which btw I was hugely flattered by.  Say what you what about superficiality but who doesn’t love being a hot young thing.  Just Sayin’.  And since my apartment is in a dorm after all.  I’m guessing someone has a little fantasy about banging some hot young co-ed.  It all becomes a little clearer.


His response to the text about real-estate?  LOL.  Yeah [I still want to hang out] that would be nice.  But having your own place was hot 🙂

1.  Ouch.
2.  I agree.
3.  Okay no way to rationalize now.  He does not want to be buddies who flirt.

Haha.  Part of me feels my ego just took a hit…but the other part completely agrees…having my own place is hot…guess I’ll just have to be extra adorable to make up for it 😉.  And here is where I should quite possibly have stopped typing.  But I didn’t.  Because I’m a flirty bitch who’s got all kinds of pent up energy from months of studying and sex that wasn’t-hair-pulling-body-slamming-tell-your-friends-too-much-information-later-while-you-regale-them-with-hot-stories-to-vicariously-live-through-your-SLUTmazing-ways type sex.  And ya know.  I’m feeling a bit butterfly-ey.  Technically I have it [the apartment] till Friday 😉  Just Sayin’.  And thus he responds I could come by Thursday before or after my meetings in Vancouver.  Just Sayin’.  I ask something about whether or not it’ll dampen the hotness by the fact that none of my stuff is there anymore?  And then I ask what time his meetings are.

11am and 1pm.  Butterflys stop moving.  What is it with dudes and daytime.  Daytime is NOT sexy.

I respond.  lol definitely after :).  And thus the conversation ends.  Butterflies are at a minimum at this point. But still ya know…present.  Albeit laying dormant.  But still.

Detour.  Here’s a random aside for you to ponder.  A thought just occurred to me.  He wouldn’t know that since my apartment was technically part of UBC residence, the bed comes with etc.  Aka that it’s still there.  What does he think…doing it on the floor? lol not that I’m opposed to that.  But just saying.

So this kind of brings us to now.  Like right now.  2pm on Wednesday April 27, 2011.  And tomorrow is D-Day.  Or not.  We’ll see.  Because the truth is.  Right now.  With him.  I’m being a fickle bitch.  All term I would’ve been gung ho to get it on with him.  Monday I was all butterflies.  Little fewer with the talk of hanging out in the daytime.  And then last night I texted him.  How are you doing??? I can barely breathe lol (for those not local or…not being local is the only excuse for not knowing…but last night was Game 7 of the Canucks vs. Blackhawks round one – Stanley Cup – Game) and so yeah that’s how the text makes sense. But that being said.  no response.  Now sure I’ll admit maybe he was too into the game to answer a text even on a commercial break.  Plus maybe he was…er…with someone.  But this morning rolls around and no response.  Which for him is actually a little bit unusual.  And thus.  All butterflies disappear.

And now I’ve just got dread.  And irritation.  And I keep flip flopping between what to do.  Options:

1.  Forget about it.  If he texts tomorrow…ignore it.  And honestly never talk to him again.  He doesn’t like me.  And since he can’t give me exactly what I want in a booty call…is there really any point?  No.  Drop him.  Leave him.  Ignore him.  Become a lesbian.  Whatever.


2.  Text something.  (for this option I’d really need some advice).  Text something that gets you out of this predicament but keeps future sexy predicaments a possibility.  For reference, I’m not sure what that text would say…so advice would be mucho requireo.  That’s right.  I make Spanish words by adding an O.


3.  Text him something about just being friends.  Real talk.  He’s got a girl.  It makes me feel weird.  Or at the very least it’s a good guise to get out of this situation and possibly become friends.  Is that even possible?  Do I even want to?


4.  Hurry the fuck out to UBC, clean my damn apartment, go to ball practice at 6pm, come back to suburbs to sleep.  And tomorrow morning/afternoonish head get dolled up…go out to UBC.  Throw some sheets on the bed.  Hang out with him.  Bang his brains out.  Have disappointing sex?  Have amazing sex?  Have super awkward situation?  Have amazing story to tell?  You’ll never know unless you do it.


5.  Don’t bother cleaning apartment.  Go to practice.  Go out to UBC tomorrow.  Fuck in the filth.  THIS IS A JOKE….all my OCD and need to be smokin’ hot when hanging out with boys I do smokin’ hot things with would totally prevent this from even being a possibility.  Do you know me at all?!?!? lol


6.  Some option I haven’t considered.

So there you have it.  Fuck.  I rarely ask.  So you know that means I’m seriously torn about what to do.  Help me!!!!!!! lol.  Seriously.  And be quick about it lol.

Oh and BTW.  I’m talking about The Nick Name.  Oh shut up lol you saw this coming.

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Come Back Charlies (Part V)

Head Desk

 

[dropcap]I[/dropcap] like a good recap.  Everybody likes a good recap.  Because even as I tell these stories.  In real life.  To my friends.  To myself.  Silently in my head.  It gets a bit confusing.  Who was who?  Who came back when.  Who was super ridiculous.  Who was the most ridiculous of them all.  So before I tell you about Charlie #4 (a man you’ve all grown to…well…not totally sure…but someone you’ll recognize).  Here is the recap.  Of the Come Back Charlies:

Charlie #1:  The Oxymoronic Lawyer (fix links) and his return in Parts I and Parts II
Charlie #2:  Mr. Basketball (who would later be known be the very name of all these posts – Come Back Charlie)
Charlie #3:  The TACTician aka Mr. Tacky aka The Old Guy
and finally
Charlie #4:  And so the story goes…

It had been two weeks.  To exact weeks.  To the day.  I mean honestly, I can’t make this shit up.  And on the one hand.  It was a total surprise.  Because of course.  He had said there was something missing.  A spark?  Chemistry?  I had asked.  If that’s what you want to call it he had said.  But then truth be told.  I had assumed it was an attraction thing.  I had assumed he’d never been with a chubby bunny before.  And after catching a glimpse of me sans shirt.  He’d changed his mind.  Not the girl for him.  Attraction nil.
On the other hand.  I wasn’t surprised at all.  Because of course.  He’d liked me.  I was certain.  The irony is at the time it never really occurred to me that a person might not know what the fuck they want.  I mean after all this dude wasn’t 22.  He was fucking 38.  He had a grown up job and a kid (are you starting to see who it is? lol).  I mean.  I know what it is to be 25 and not know what the fuck is going on.  I can even fathom that at 30 there will be some that are still confused.  Still uncertain.  I’m not saying you’ll always HAVE what you want.  But at the very least you’ll have a picture in your mind of what it might look like.  But to be 38 and clueless.  I mean shit son.  How does that even happen.  And thus I give you….
TheNickName.  Come Back Charlie #4.  The Cat Came Back The Very Next Day 2 Weeks Later.
Hey you!! 🙂 It said.  His message to me on Plenty of Fish.  How’s things?  Ha ha, Back to school!  And I should have done nothing.  But well.  Unlike the other boys.  The other Come Back Charlies.  TheNickName was IRL (in real life) for me.  We had gone out.  We had hung out.  We had made out.  And now that I was indeed back in school.  And had pretty much forsaken dating and the blog for the time being (I wasn’t totally sure how one could exist without the other).  The idea of bringing a man off the bench.  Bringing a horse out of the stable.  Well that sounded like a damn good idea.  Plus ya know.  I wanted to know what was going on.  2 weeks ago.  Now.  What had changed.  What was different.  What did he want?  And so I messaged back.  Tried to keep it breezy but conversational.


Hey 🙂
Things with me are fantastic (as usual lol) and though a longer break would’ve
been awesome…yes lol I am back at school.  How are things with you?  How 
was the rest of your Xmas/New Year’s?

And then he responded.  Right away with

That’s awesome.  Xmas and New Years was good.  Lots of daughter’s name time.
How was New Years with your ex?  What mid term grades did you get?  A’s I’m
guessing!


But wait? what?  Does anyone find the thing about New Year’s with my ex a little bit weird.  That’s what he remembers?  Something that got mentioned once, in passing, in our final phone call.  AFTER he had said he didn’t want to date me anymore because he felt something was missing.  Really?  really?  But I kept it breezy.  And honestly, honest.  Because truth be told, he had been there all that last month while writing papers and taking exams.  So I kind of did want to tell him all about my grades.  Lame I know.

Aww I bet daughter’s name loved that 🙂

lol you have such a good memory for things I say…NYE with my ex was good
…my grades were the best yet (I’m so proud which hopefully discounts this
sounding like bragging and making me look like a douche) but I got 2 A-s and 
an A+ (I’m so proud lol…It’s the highest grade I’ve ever gotten)…and to have
gotten it as a final grade means even more…Harvard here I come!…okay I’m 
kind of joking about Harvard…but still…who knew right!?!?!?


Harvard would be missing out, without you!  I’m glad your grades went awesome.
So were you planning on the ex time before our time together?  Yah I guess, cause
you went to Seattle 2 days later.

Wait.  What?!?!  Why all the harping on the ex?  The irony is how he’d mentioned at some point how he can’t stand jealousy and wasn’t a jealous person himself.  And yet.  Really?  really?  And the thing of the thing is.  I don’t even mind jealousy.  In fact I think people who claim they never feel jealous are liars.  Show me your stripes.  All the colors.  The bad and the good.  Show me your true stripes and I can understand you.  Empathize with you.  Deal with you.  But pretend to be something.  And not only do you irritate me but I full on dislike you and finally, don’t trust you.  If you can’t be honest with yourself, how are you going to be honest with me?

I didn’t answer his message for awhile.  I was thinking.  I was purposely making him wait.  I was partly as bored with the whole situation as I am now typing it.  The truth of the matter is.  In the space of those two weeks.  He’d become what I either was to him.  Or possibly much less.  He was a means to an end.  A dude I was attracted to who I felt had the potential to scratch an itch.  And then he texted.  And then he instant messaged on POF and sadly that ends my exact recounting of our interaction.  Because unlike messages, you can’t keep the instant message script.  So now three weeks later I’m going to try and give you the gist of what was said.
He was 100% attracted to me.  Thought I was a babe.  Super sexy.  Also I think he used the word sweet too.  Basically I’m awesome lol.  At the time of our convo and then the next day on the phone.  I had come to the conclusion that the problem had been his jealousy/assumptions about my ex (and me).  And that in some attempt to protect himself/or because of an averse reaction to those feelings he’d cut things short.
However, knowing what I know now.  I think he’s part totally retarded and part slow and/or satisfied sex drive.  But at the time I kind of figured.  Okay well I know that dating won’t work.  But *dreamy eyes* perhaps I had finally found my Golden Egg.  Someone to keep me from going insane during the school year.  Someone to gimme some man love without all the baggage.

Only the booty call satisfaction never happened.  I waited a week and a half (I was sick with a cold at the time).  Waited till the weekend.  Gave him a shout.  Have a hockey game he said.  Uh yeah I wasn’t thinking until way later I have dinner plans tonight and we’ll probably be out till 1ish I told him.  I’m gonna be bagged and have to get up early tomorrow to go to a job site.  Sorry!  Another time please!  And I thought.  Fuck that noise.  But well.  I was really itchy.  And I don’t drink anymore.  And none of my exes live in Vancouver.  And Goddamn Mamma needed some ass.

So the next night.  After going out with a friend.  And scoping out The New Oxford for a possible location for the upcoming tweetup.  And then heading over to Society for cotton candy.  I texted.  Last time.  Last chance.  Last attempt.  This was really getting pathetic.  But at the very least I thought it would be funny.  Because after all.  What I decided to text.  To him.  Was something that had been clarified to me oh so clearly.  And though he likely wouldn’t get the irony.  I thought it was delicious.  What are you wearing?



But alas.  No response came.  Done.  This was awful.  I’m a hottie.  I’m a dynamo in bed.  Chubby bunny or not I’m fucking awesome and I don’t know how I got all turned around but this behavior had to stop.  But of course.  He responded.  The next morning.  With something ridiculously lame.

I was in a low cut number, with sheer and lace. lol.


I won’t lie.  The petty part of me decided to be snarky.  Too bad you didn’t respond last night I said.

I was out at a fundraiser.  Your outfit sounds lovely!  I had a buddy with me, and he stayed over, Sorry.


My thoughts?  Don’t give a shit.  Plus…uh…wait…I didn’t say what I was wearing.  Weird.  lol…maybe he’s still drunk ha ha.

No worries I said I’m thinking your life is too busy for sex lol and I want it to be very present so I’m out.  And to be clear.  Yes, dear readers.  I know this was a little hysterical.  A little.  Why bother?  Just stop texting him.  But I urge you to try to understand.  This was the build up of 2 months of both sexual and mental frustration.  And quite honestly I was horny, irritated, and pissed.  So yes.  You could say I was being petty.  And annoying.  And about to get even more petty with my last and final text to him.

BTW…if you ever want to check out some of my writing just google “Something She Dated” 🙂  All the best kid!


And thus.  The end of The Nick Name.  And essentially the moment that I decided this was fucking ridiculous. The moment that prompted another moment.  The Announcement.  So gentlemen of my future.  Gentlemen who will not be getting laid.  Gentlemen who will not be able to just “see what’s what”.  Gentlemen who will have blue balls.  You have The Nick Name to thank.  You’re welcome.

Now the thing about these Come Back Charlies is.  On the one hand.  I’m certain they’re absolutely fucking retarded.  But you have to wonder.  Why me?  Why again?  Why me?  Do I smell like a second chance?  Can they taste it in the air?  Or is it that they’ve seen that I’m just so awesome they simply HAVE to try their hand again?  I want to believe the latter.  But the thing of the thing is.  If it was the latter.  Why didn’t they just try harder the first time around.  Alas.  It must be the former.  Yet another reason I need to coat myself in HardToGet speedstick and keep the relaxed and breezy stench off of me.  Not to mention just generally roll around in some cotton candy happiness and quite dealing with this kind of ridiculousness and aggravation thrown my way (albeit permitted by my engagement with it).  But I digress.  I was done.  I am done.  With the losers.  Time to be Hard.  To.  Get.  Full stop.

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Rip the Bandaid, Bitch! (Part Two)

Head Desk

So like I was saying.  I had hoped he would call.  After whatever blah blah excuse he had given me.  But he didn’t.  At least.  Not that night.  The next morning however.  I was woken up by a text.  Well more exactly I was woken up by Alice Cooper blaring
 ♫ Poison, You’re poison running through my veins, You’re poison, I don’t wanna break these chains ♫ 
And in case you’re not a long time reader.  This is where I have to mention again.  I have the cell phone from hell.  I live in the Bermuda fucking triangle.  This is NOT an exaggeration.  I have THE worst luck with cell phones and reliable service.  So it is not uncommon to miss text messages.  To get them long after they were sent.  To get them in indecipherable pieces.  Just Sayin’.

This morning was unlikely to be any different.  When there it was.  Showing up.  Coming through.  The piece of a puzzle of messages.  Only.  Something like the middle.  That’s it.  Fuck.

Easy to say, especially when you 
care for someone.  Then as I 
delayed it, it became harder and 
harder to call.  I’m spending.

What.  The.  Fuck.  This is obviously only a piece of the message.  So I text back saying as much.  Either to resend or call.  He calls.  FUCK.  I answer.  It’s a bit awkward.  Plus it’s also a bit hazy.  It’s fucking like 8:20am and I’m a student.  Plus just in general not a morning person.

The gist of what he says is this.

He thinks I’m awesome.
There’s just something missing.
Like chemistry I ask?
But he can’t describe it
He doesn’t know what he wants
blah blah blah
He wants to be friends.
I should give him a call….

and then I interrupt him.  Ahh.  I’m going to leave that in your court buddy.  After all you’re the one who just said he didn’t like me enough lol.  No way am I going to spend more being concerned about whether or not I should call someone.  Though I say this in a somewhat less bitchy fashion.  We chatter on a bit more.  NYE is mentioned.  I say MegaLove is coming up to spend it with me.  I offer no further details.  We end the call.  I send a quick text thanking him for letting me know.  Not because I felt he deserved it.  But if I’m going to be a big proponent of people being honest with each other and ripping the fucking bandaid off, I can’t turn around and be all bitter.  I have to keep it going.  Word of mouth advertising.

Rip the bandaid, bitch! 

By the way.  Almost as soon as the call was over.  Suddenly my phone blows up with text messages.  Out of order no less.  But I’m not retarded.  I know how to piece a puzzle together.  And here is.  The bandaid ripping (sort of) puzzle.

Sorry for being so distant.  I’m just not feeling it and don’t want waste your time, plus go any further physically.  I should have called but it’s not that easy to say, especially when you care for someone.  Then as I delayed it, it became harder and harder to call.  I’m spending the day with DaughtersName, and leaving town later on today.  Take care!


Ouch.  For reference I find the care about someone bit to be fucked up retarded like and the go any further physically to mean that he wasn’t attracted to me anymore.  So there ya go.  Fuck Me.  Or not I guess.  Exit stage left.

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Rip the Bandaid, Bitch! (Part One)

Dating Mistakes

Maybe I’ve dissected it a thousand times.  Maybe I barely paid attention when it was happening.  Maybe just too much time has passed.  Maybe the continuous over-analyzation of the details was like metaphorically pulling at the thread of my memory sweater.  I pulled too hard.  I pulled too fast.  And it all fucking fell apart.  My memory that is.  Because I swear to you people.  If it wasn’t for text messaging as some sort of tangible record of the events.  I might not be able to tell this story.  Poof!  Like it never even happened.  But lucky (or not so lucky) for us all, I do indeed have the tangible words that bring this tale to a……well just let me tell you.

So The Nick Name and I had had our 2nd Date.  I’d been the dirty slut sexy vixen you all know and love me as.  And things were great.  Except.  Well.  Ya know how some chicks dissect every fucking detail?  See I only do that when things are negative.  When things have a positive result.  I skip along.  Tra la la la.  Like everything is draped in cotton candy and sugar coated in icing.  Tra la la la.  Skip.  Skip.  Hop.  Only the thing is.  When I retell these stories to you.  Some of the icing sugar has shaken off.  And I feel a bit retarded if I don’t point out the things I know should have been obvious.  Like somehow I need to prove to you guys I’m not totally retarded.  Just naively hopeful.

So the thing is.  Even though after we were finished messing around so to speak.  There was what I would call cuddling.  Not spooning.  Because it was more like face to face.  Well actually more like I was on my stomach and he was beside me on his side.  And we were just kind of curled up kiss kiss wrapped around each other kiss kiss just lying there.  Eyes closed.  Honestly trying not to fall asleep.  And as super pathetic as this is going to sound.  I kind of wanted to keep laying there.  But I could feel it.  Feel something.  Feel him.  Dude wanted to go to sleep.  Now don’t get me wrong he didn’t do anything douchey or awful.  But I could just tell.  And so I got up to go.  He got up with me.  Talked about our date for the coming Wednesday still being on.  And walked me to the door.

And there.  Right in that moment.  I knew.  Not good.  Not good at all.  Because the thing of the thing is.  He didn’t walk me to my car.  And bee tee dub.  It was late.  It was dark.  It was fucking New Westminster.  A more residential than sketchy area but please.  And the thing that allowed me at the time to discount this.  Ignore it.  Move along.  Was the fact that up until this dating foray that is my 2010 experience, I wouldn’t have expected a boy to walk me to my car.  Sure on the first date.  But after that.  Not really.  The door and seal it with a kiss?? obviously.  But put your shoes on come out to my car?  Not really.  But the thing is.  I’m not 21 anymore.  And I’m certainly not dating 21 year olds.  These boys are damn near 40 and they know what’s up.  They know what being a gentleman means.  And not feeling desireous/compelled to walk me to my car?  a bad sign.  That I ignored.

Sidebar.  The logic behind WHY I ignored all this will come in a wholly separate post (yes it’s that lengthy and complex lol) so just bee tee dub.

But it’s whatevs.  I had fun.  I’m ignoring the one bad sign in favor of all the good ones.  Carrying on.  Boxing day rolls in.  There is texting.  I’m italics.

4:00pm

Hey 🙂 How’s your day going?
Humming along!  And yours?
Great! lots of catching up with friends and then just getting ready for Seattle/McChord AFB tomorrow.

Radio Silence.


6:45pm
You around?
7:29pm
I’m at my buddies for dinner and the game.  Call you later!
Is it just me or are those exclamations getting irritating.  Doesn’t he know that there is a big difference between call you later.  call you later?  and call you later!  Stop it.  Girl over-analyzing.  Fuck me.  Stop.

Sounds good.


10:18pm
Hey cutie just a heads up I’m going to bed pretty soon, getting up at 6am tomorrow 🙂
In my defense.  My cell phone doesn’t work while I’m in the states…which is where I was planning to be for about 24 hours.  And he didn’t know that.  So while I realize this seems overzealous texting.  I had wanted to talk to him before I went so I could tell him.  Plus in all honesty.  If he liked me it wouldn’t seem so overzealous.

Radio Silence.


Dec. 27th.  I wake up with bells on and head down to Seattle.  Which I’ll tell you all about.  New friends.  MegaLove.  Etcetera.  But in another post.  This  post is all about TheNickName.  So let’s get back to it.  I arrive home from Seattle in the wee morning hours of the 28th.  And when I turn my phone back on.  Obviously expecting it to be blown up with…Hey and then hello? and then further you arounds? and perhaps even are you ignoring me?s.  Only it doesn’t.  Silence.  Okay well not total silence.  Texts from friends etc.  But from TheNickName.  Silence.  I mean.  What.  The.  Fuck.  I go to sleep.


Later in the day…I get a text from him (me in italics again).  Fucking weak ass shit.

How is or was Seattle?  I have to bail on tomorrow, I’m going out of town tomorrow after work for the weekend! Sorry!
Fucking exclamation marks!!!!!!!! Sorry!???? It’s like he’s yelling or something.  Too many exclamation marks especially when they don’t belong is like SOMEONE TYPING IN ALL CAPS!!!! WHO ARE YOU YELLING AT?!?!?!

Okay…do you have time to talk?



Pathetic I know.  But in my defense.  This was sort of me trying to decipher if he really was bailing for last minute out town pl….fuck…even as I type it…it sounds too stupid.  Fuck it was just pathetic. We all slip.  Lots.  Don’t judge.  People in glass houses and all that.

I’m at a buddies, watching the Canada game.  I will try to call you after its over!
No worries.


At some point it gets late.  I’m going to bed.  Fuck this noise.  All of me understands he’s not swooning over me.  Most of me understands he’s not dying to spend time with me.  Some of me understands that he probably doesn’t even like me enough to continue seeing each other (this behavior being evidence).  But none of me can grasp how someone I took it slow…but not too slow…with…and have cute conversations with…can go from…good to go and super cute and totally into me….to…total blow off.  Now to be clear.  I understand it happens.  I get it in theory that sometimes people just don’t like either people.  But at this exact moment in my defense (I’ve had to say that a lot this post….damn…exclamation point!)…I couldn’t quite make the logic fit…the illogicality of people and emotions and behaviors and whatever the fuck was going on with this dude.  So I made one last pathetic attempt.  Because the truth is.  Me and him.  We were better on the phone.  Just Sayin’
Really hope you get a chance to call before you leave town cause I’m feeling pretty weird about you cancelling again and we seem to be better on the phone.


To Be Continued….Here:  Rip the Bandaid, Bitch! (Part Two)

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

 

A Christmas Miracle: The Nick Name Gets A 2nd Date

Dating

So it was Christmas Eve, I was all snuggled in bed, and then The Nick Name called.  And I can’t lie, it was good to hear his voice again.  It started with just the usual chatter.  How has work been?  Good but busy obviously.  He asked about my exams.  I told him about Shakespeare.  How it had gone so amazingly well.  How I had wanted to call and tell him about it.  Since in this bizarre turn of events.  He knew all about my schoolwork.  Mainly because I generally think people will find it so boring I don’t really talk to my friends about it.  Sure I tell them hey guess what…did really well…blah blah blah.  But I don’t talk about my papers.  Tell them what I’m arguing.  How I’m going to do it.  The response.  The whole shabang.  But because I had been talking to him so much during paper writing/exams.  He knew all that stuff.  So truth be told when I aced Shakespeare…and the whole term in general really.  It was him I wanted to call.  [Sidenote: I would need to correct this behavior].

And that’s when he told me.  That obviously we were cool with each other.  An awesome chick.  We’re grownups.  And all that.  That if I wanted to talk to him.  I should just call.  Not to worry about all the other bullshit.  Okay I said.  Sounds good.  Plus.  He said.  It’s not like he was the only busy one.  It was me too.  Busy with school.  And he didn’t want to be harassing me to hang out either.  And honestly.  After that I can’t really remember what else we talked about.  Mostly it was just nice connecting again.  I do know that neither of us was super keen on waiting the 5 days till our Wednesday dinner date plan.  And so we decided.  To have a coffee.  Or go for a walk.  Something.  Anything.  To hang out the next day.  Christmas Day.  In between his family breakfast and dinner.  Till tomorrow we said.  Night.


Christmas day came.  But plans got a little busy.  Shocking I know.  Though this time it was definitely me getting busier.  Because originally I had planned for a blissfully alone Christmas Day Dinnertime too.  Only I ended up spending it with an AWESOME group of people (playing it fast and loose, wild and free, Princess Amazing forever!).  So suddenly our free time became a little more cramped.  No big deal though.  Instead of afternoon coffee/walk we would do an after Christmas Dinner movie.

Dinner was amazing.  Yahtzee was brilliant.  And then it was time for me to depart.  But not before my brother enlightened everyone that I had DOUBLE BOOKED them.  LOL.  Hey!  A girl’s only got so much time off for Xmas break eh?!?!

So I headed over to TheNickName’s place.  Which I won’t lie.  Wasn’t as impressive as I had hoped in my imagination.  But in all honesty.  You never really know.  Trucker Joe had a brand new condo (and I’m certain a shitload of debt).  TheNickName lived in a 2 bedroom basemant suite.  Plus.  Ya know.  Who am I to judge.  People in glass houses and all of that.  But still.  I expected.  Er.  Um.  More.

But I digress.  Nothing ever happens that effortlessly with me.  The Queen of Awkward.  The Princess of Oops and Sloppy.  The Bear of Vancouver if you will.  So he said go through the gate.  Off the alley.  To the door at the back.  Now I’m not totally retarded.  But here’s the thing of the thing.  I’m nervous.  This is only our second fucking date.  I’ve never been to his place before.  And I ask you.  If someone told you the door around back.  And you saw a door.  Around the back.  Would you check for more than one?  Of course not.  How many fucking doors can one house have?!?!?!  Apparently at least 3.  But in my defense.  There was also a blinding spotlight.  And the door was FUCKING OPEN!

So there I am.  Walking up the garden path.  Straight for the open door.  That’s around back.  And as I get to the top of the 3 stairs.  Hello?  A dude appears.  But not my dude.  And even better than this fucking awkward moment.  I cannot for the life of me remember TheNickName’s name.  So I stand there.  Making some kind of um..uh…is this…um…uh…is he…um…uh noise.  Until the dude saves me and says are you looking for TheNickName?  I stammer.  Yes.  Down and around he says.  And there’s TheNickName.  Standing there.  Having seen the whole thing.  At the OTHER fucking door in the back.  Stupid.  Fucking.  Tons-of-doors!

So I head inside.  We hug.  He shows me around the place.  At some point he sneaks in.  Snags a quick kiss. Nothing big.  Just a peck.  Just had to get that out of the way.  Not the smoothest I’ll admit.  But I like that he’d been thinking about it.  So good to go.  We decide to watch a movie.  In retrospect not the best choice.  At some point he says something about a song or music playing.  Like sounds like The Talking Heads?  And I’m like.  Uh…yeah I don’t really know they’re music.  I start to wonder if perhaps it’s not as cool for him being “the old guy” as it is for me being “the hot young thing”.  The movie was SLOW at best.  But alas I spent the time snuggled up to the nook so it was all good.  Finally the movie ended.  He went to the bathroom.  And I got to pick the show.  Big Bang Theory it is.  Conveniently they were doing a marathon.  Turns out he likes the show.  Nice.  But before long.  It doesn’t matter.

Because we’re kissing.  Making out like teenagers on a couch.  And like with Trucker Joe.  It’s not the most amazing kissing ever.  But it’s the fact that he adapts.  Whether consciously or not.  He adapts.  And so with every kiss.  The kissing is better.  And before long I’m facing him on the couch.  Breasts pressed against his chest.  At some point we get up and head to the bedroom.  He knows he’s not getting laid.  But ya know.  There might be some dry humping.  I’m holding tight to my stages.  So tightly in fact that I PURPOSELY wore..well…NOT the red lacies…AND didn’t shave my legs.  What can I say.  I’m like a teenage boy.  When I’m tempted with something I want.  I forget all the reasons it’s not a good idea and just go for it.  So I have to have a safety net.  Or two.  To keep me inline.  Just Sayin’

Were on his bed barely a heartbeat before my shirt flies off.  For reference.  By him.  lol.  I was trying to be a lady so I could’ve well kept it on but whatever.  We makeout for quite awhile.  And it’s excellent.  You forget how awesome it can be making out with someone new.  *sigh*.  Newness makes me happy.  Anyways  So I’m not going to give you a blow by blow (not ironic!…please I’m a lady!) of what happened.  But instead I’ll simply say that I kept myself a lady.  My concert admitted no patrons.  Not through any gate.  However.  As all boys do.  He showed me what he was working with.  Unfortunately it would do him well to listen to a little Lil’ Kim.

“Smack my ass, grab my hair, 
got ’em cummin’ everywhere
I’ma freak, so I don’t care, 
just don’t get none in my hair

 

‘Twas The Night Before Christmas: A “Something” She Dated Christmas Carol

Hearts


‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through house
Not a “something” was likely, def not a spouse
The sexting had happened because of the wall
In the hopes that a “something” would show me a ball
SSDated was nestled all snug in her bed
While visions of throwdown danced in her head
The Nick Name had been, so busy and sick
ThePhD though smart, seemed a bit of a dick
When over the phone arose such good chatter
The Nick Name, his cancelling appeared not to matter
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Closing the shutters and tying the sash
When what to my wondering ears should appear
But a boy indicating things should be clear
I should not worry, grown ups after all
If I wanted to talk, all I had to do was call
He thought I was awesome, so lively and quick
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick(Name)
More rapid than eagles the talking it came
And he whistled, and panted, and called me by name
“Now, Sexy!, now Baby! just like that and more!
On, hottie! on awesome! my dirty little whore! 
Because of the window!  Because of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all” (hopes of dating me)
So onto the blog, my stories they grew
With an Xmas full of boys, and St. Nick(Name) too
And then, in a twinkling, I heard in his voice
What I thought was excitement but perhaps another choice?
As I hung up the phone and was turning around
Down the chimney, a new “something” came with a bound
He was dressed in nice clothes so far I could tell
And like an advert for axe, so good did he smell
A bundle of gifts he had flung on his back (so I didn’t judge)
That he looked like a peddler just opening his pack
His smile– how it beamed!  his humor how funny!
His muscles were bulging, his demeanor how sunny!
His stance it was good, so confident and sure
And no beard on his face, his skin baby pure
He wasn’t a smoker, you could tell by his teeth
Exactly the man, I’d want to be underneath
He had a broad face and not a hint of a belly
Which made mine more special, shaking like jelly
I was chubby and plump, he had ears like an elf
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Had me ready and willing to jump into bed
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
Took care of his baby; then turned with a jerk
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose
He sprang to his truck and revved it up loud
Driving away like a kid with an A+, so proud
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight
“Damn that chick’s hot, and man-alive is she bright.”

 

Persistence Will Get You Everywhere: The Nick Name Keeps Himself in the Game

Dating

 

[dropcap]So just a quick recap. [/dropcap]

There were phone calls.  A first date came and went with success.  Then the date’s were on then off.  Then on then off.  Then there was a window that closed. A wall that went up.  And yet somehow I was still feeling a chemical (fabricated I would guess almost entirely by my mind and desire to eventually get laid by someone not a stranger) attraction to The Nick Name.  And one would assume he did not feel the same.  But there he was.  Just under a week later.  On the day I finished my exams.  Popping right back up.

The day my exams ended.  TheNickName remembered.
And texted Yay, school is over for two weeks.  
Howd Shakespeare go?  Enjoy your time off!!!
Amazing I said Hit it outta the park.  How are things with you?

And so he replied That’s awesome for you! Atta girl!  
Things are good, just stupid busy during this time 
of the year with work and Xmas functions.  
Talk soon!
I didn’t respond further.  Didn’t think I needed to.  Not sure if I wanted to.  But the next day.  There he was again.  With minimal effort of course.  But making enough of an effort to stand outside the wall but close enough to touch it, if you will.  Which may have been the reason the conversation happened as it did.
Did you xmas shop after you finished all of yours exams etc.? he asked.  But I was busy.  I was at a party which unfortunately didn’t live up to the hype I had hoped.  And then I was having drinks with ladies and chatting all night long.  No time to stop to text a boy back.  Plus of course even if I did have time.  It would be to text The PhD back (as he had been texting cute things in anticipation of our date the next day).

The next morning I woke up.  lol who am I kidding.  I was on Christmas break.  The next afternoon I woke up.  And thought sure.  Why not.  So I responded to the previous night’s text.  Something about having done absolutely no shopping yet and was he all ready for Christmas.


A friend is coming over tonight to wrap all of my presents and then yah I’m done! he quickly responded.  Fun I said wrapping presents is my favorite thing to do! And that’s when it happened.  Somewhere between attraction + opportunity – window + wall = me getting flirty (so unlike me).  Well maybe my second favorite thing.


What’s your favorite? he asks.  And it’s sort of off to the races from there.  He tells me he’s had lots of thoughts about my lady bits (don’t worry my words not his).  I wonder if it’ll happen with us.  A second date not a future.  I hope so he says Your sched. was crazy busy and mine got there when we got closer to xmas.  Next week is pretty wide open…Wanna get together on the 29th?  Dinner at my place?


Sure I text.  Sounds good.  And then he’s home from work.  And the conversation really turns to.  Well.  Inappropriate for all your innocent eyes and naive ears.  The thing is though.  I’ve yet to find someone who did it as well as Intelligence Officer.  I mean honestly.  I don’t know if it was just the right time right place of our little scenario.  Or what.  But everything he said was perfect.  He ebbed and I flowed.  He flowed and I ebbed.  He didn’t rush the convo.  It was dirty.  It was explicit.  It was exactly what I wanted. (fix link)

But The Nick Name.  It was.  Er.  Um.  Okay.  It was rushed.  It was not the things I wanted.  I mean it wasn’t like things I didn’t want or anything.  But it lacked a certain.  Throw down.  A certain take charge.  There was no verbal hair pulling to say the least.  But I played along.  Because I was horny.  And happy (with life not with him) and frankly it was my Xmas break and why the fuck not.  Until of course he asked the question all boys ask.  Stupid boys.  You gotta send me a sexy pic that I can use tonight.  It’s not the using my pic that makes him stupid.  That actually makes him awesome.  Yes indeed.  Go ahead and feed my ego.  But asking a chick you barely know to send you a dirty pic in this day and age of nothing can be erased and everything comes out?  Don’t be retarded.  Obviously I responded more in a more demure and breezy fashion.  But nonetheless with a not gonna happen.

His response.  I will look at your pics on POF 🙂  No problem with that I think, in fact I encourage it.  Have at ‘er.  And that’s when I tell him I have to go.  I have to get ready for tonight.  Which ironically is my first date with ThePhD.  His final message I want you !!  Have fun tonight!! 


The next day….


I thought about you lots today and our text messages from yesterday! oh I bet you did, Indeed I bet he did.
It was Christmas Eve Day.  And it was more of the same.  Texting from The Nick Name.  Asking about my day.  My plans for Christmas Eve.  Which if you follow me on Twitter should know were going to be blissful and independent.  With my parents out of the country this year.  And spending Christmas Day with my brother, his girlfriend and her family.  I was free to spend Christmas Eve blissfully, relaxingly, amazingly alone and doing my own thing.  Which as I told The Nick Name when he asked was going to be full of dancing, decorating, xmas movies and yummy thai food.
That sounds fun he texted I wish I was sitting on your coach watching you!  I assured him that wouldn’t be a good idea as I would get nothing done.  The chatter continued.  At some point we talked about kissing.  Something we had yet to actually do.  (man this was fucked up).  He insinuated he was a good kisser.  Some joke about having a plaque.  I said I wasn’t sure if I was a good kisser.  So far all my reviews had been good if not raves.  But still.  As a person who writes and yet won’t call herself a writer.  I’m hesitant to claim skills that are relative.  Like kissing.  He assured me he was happy to be the judge.
The conversation took a sexy turn again.  Back and forth we went.  And then suddenly.  Radio Silence.  Which was followed 2.5 hours later with Sorry, I was watching a xmas movie.  How was dancing and decorating?  want to talk on the phone?
It was late but honestly I did want to talk to him on the phone.  Since the very beginning.  The phone had been his strong suit.  And honestly I kind of wanted to regain that image of him.  Because as of late.  He’d been a bit of a douche.

To Be Continued…

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Sexual Chemistry: Can Attraction and Chemistry Develop Over Time?

I can't believe I went out with him

 

[dropcap]So[/dropcap] I have this theory about attraction.  As it relates to me.  And my ability to control it.  Manipulate it.  Make it do what I want.  Conjure it out of nothing.  Squash it when it’s inconvenient.  Play with it.  Like a kitten with a ball.  Bat it about.  Like a scientist.  With beakers and formulas.  Recipes and hypotheses.  Baking a cake of attraction.  Mixing a compound of chemistry.

Now here’s the thing of the thing.  I’ve been boy crazy since as long as I can remember.  Crushes form quickly and often without substantiating factors.  Sometimes crushes last for awhile.  Especially if there’s limited interaction to foil the mystery.  Sometimes they last for mere days.  hours.  minutes.  But see a crush is just a crush.  A moment of chemistry.  A hint of attraction.  For a boy to have staying power is a whole other issue entirely.  While I may be crush-slutty I’m a long-term connection prude.  It takes a lot to keep me interested in the long run.  But then again.  To me.  That makes total sense.  Most people seem to be the complete opposite.  Once they like you.  They really like you.  But for me.  In the beginning.  Dating is just.  Attraction (not always physical).  Sexual tension.  Chemistry.  Kindness and them being a gentleman.  Honestly.  A guy with the right moves and social protocol no matter how little potential for future liking, could easily keep himself in the mix at the beginning.

Additionally I should probably mention.  I’m fairly certain I’m attracted to a high percentage of males.  The reason I say “fairly certain” is because after all “high” is a relative term and I would need to know the statistics on the rate of attraction other females feel for said number of males to really truly know.  Science and Dating.  Just Sayin’.  But even without full on stats.  I can guess.  That while other ladies might have the potential attraction for say 3 in 10 guys.  My number is likely more like 7 in 10.  I think *(stats hypothesized on IRL seeing of guys…not online dating photos as results may definitely vary with that).

So now that you have all these little tidbits of info about me.  I should tell you.  I’ve always kind of felt I have control over the attraction I feel towards others.  I can amp it up.  Play it up.  Make it more than it might be in and of itself.  And I can also chill it the fuck out, rein it the fuck in and gear it the fuck down.  Like a fucking scientist on the loose, I can both mix up chemistry from nothing and dilute chemistry into nothing.

So here we are.  Several paragraphs into this blog post and I bet you’re thinking.  What the fuck is she talking about?  Where is this going?  What does this have to do with anything?  And here’s the tie in.  Also it may help answer some questions about why TheNickName got as far as he did and *spoiler alert* even further than I’ve told you about thus far *hides face in shame*.

So like I was saying in The Wall: A Story of Dysfunction.  I was attracted to The Nick Name.  But it ebbed and flowed.  Every time a date was scheduled excitement fed the desire.  Every time a date was cancelled the desire was dashed and the interest waylaid.  It was, to all appearances, as if I controlled it.  Manipulated it.  Conducted it like a symphony.  The truth is.  It’s not like there was some kismet connection.  He was just a nice guy.  With a voice I drooled over.  Don’t ask.  I have no idea why.  And he thought I was smart.  And funny.  And hot.  And of course he was a grown up.  And taller than me.  And not socially retarded.  And so like I told you guys (and TheHel) already.  No I wouldn’t say he was hot.  But yes I would say I was attracted to him.  Because I wanted to be.  Because being attracted to him was serving a purpose at this point.  Making me happy.

So while the window for dating was closed and the wall to protect me was erected…there was still room for.  Well.  Let’s just say not every door had closed on The Nick Name.  And it was in just under a week from his last texts about this time of year being too busy to start dating but that it’ll happen with us at some point when he stuck his foot in the very last door left open for him.  So take notes boys.  Whether it’s a good thing or not.  The way back in.  With a lady.  Is having paid attention.  Having listened to her conversation.  Because though likely a bullshit move.  Remembering shit.  Wins points.  Real talk.

The day my exams ended.  TheNickName remembered.  And texted

Yay, school is over for two weeks.  Howd Shakespeare go?  Enjoy your time off!!!

Amazing I said Hit it outta the park.  How are things with you?

And so he replied
That’s awesome for you! Atta girl!  Things are good, just stupid busy during this time of the year with work and Xmas functions.  Talk soon!

I felt no need to respond further.  No questions were asked so I wasn’t being impolite.  If he wanted anything.  He’d have to be making the moves.  Clear moves.

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Emotional Walls: Windows for Sex, Connection, Intimacy and How to Fuck It All Up

Dating

 

[dropcap]So [/dropcap]I had just finished telling you about the window through my emotional walls.  My window, the Nick Name’s window into me, and how it had just closed on his fingers.  Only.  It’s so much more complicated (and I’ll admit fucked up) than that because ladies are special creatures.  And since there’s a youtube video about this, I obviously cannot be the only one who feels/acts this way.  Now the video is amazing so I suggest you watch it from start to finish.  But, specifically, for the point that I will be making, pay attention at the 1:00 minute mark, about sex.

So the thing is.  Aside from being the most amazing chick I’ve perhaps ever come across.  This lady (Emily McCombs…who now writes for xojane.com) knows what she’s talking about.  Because it’s true.  If I like you.  You’re getting blue balls.  Probably till the 5th date. Though sometimes I cave on the 4th.  And if you’re lucky you might bust a nut earlier than that.  But not by being inside me.  Just Sayin’.  Now it’s not an exact science.  If we go out and you’re the hugest freak I’ve ever met.  That doesn’t mean I’ll sleep with you.  But if I’m attracted to you and there’s some reason I expect dating to not work out so well.  Yes.  You just might very well get laid.  I say might because after all.  With my busy months of school.  It’s been a smidge.  And since I’ve not yet managed to find myself a booty call deemed acceptable during these arduous days of sobriety (3 years on Dec. 27)…well let’s just say I’ve yet to really put this whole argument to good use.  Lately.

And I know it’s fucked up.  Because while I’m standing there all righteously withholding my self.  My personality.  My friendship.  My support.  My wonder.  Like they’re the big prize on the show.  Which they are to me.  The guy is probably thinking.  Sweet.  I get laid and I don’t have to be someone’s boyfriend.  I just won the jackpot.  Only I kind of don’t care.  Because at that point it’s not really about them.  It’s about me.  And the parts I treasure the most.  So yes.  I know it’s fucked up.  But yes.  What I withhold.  Behind the wall.  Isn’t sex.  It’s me.  Inside.  Intangible.  Irreplaceable.  Me.  Unless of course I like you.  And then it is sex.  But then technically there’s no wall.  Because through dating.  Hopefully.  I’ve let you in a bit.  Brick by brick.  Taken the wall down.

So you’re probably asking right about now.  What does this have to do with TheNickName?  And I’ll tell you.  Somewhere between the window closing and the wall being built brick by brick.  Stands a man.  A boy.  Who maintained his status as a contender.  A contender for dating?  Not so much.  But a contender for.  Other stuff.  Maybe.  And don’t get me wrong.  There was no fucking way I would pursue him after this.  But he wasn’t necessarily out of the race.  And I know you’re asking.  WHY!?!?  Wailing, pleading, begging with me WHY!?!?!?  And my answer is so very very simple.  Basic to the very core.  I was attracted to him.

So is he hot? asks TheHel.  And I pause.  Unsure how to answer.  And not sound like a total dick.  Um…not really I say. Shrug.  But I’m incredibly attracted to him.  And while I could spend hours contemplating why exactly I was attracted to him.  The truth was.  Simple.  Basic.  I was.

But at the moment the point was moot.  Irrelevant.  Because he was busy with work and life.  And I was busy with exams.  So it became whatever.  The window for dating was closed.  The brick wall was being constructed.  And I was nose deep in the books.  At least.  For the next week.

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time